Breaking Points
by Oneshot Shipper
Summary: 1774. Rebellion is starting to become more prevalent in the American Colonies. As England tries to keep his control, he pushes both him and America to their breaking points. The War for Independence is coming. T for curse words.


Hello guys! I wrote this for a friend. The Coercive Acts/Intolerable Acts were passed by Parliament in 1774 as a result of the 1773 Boston Tea Party. Obviously, they were not well received by the colonists, who believed that they interfered with natural rights, and punished the whole city for the Sons of Liberty's actions. I hope you like it!

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"I am very disappointed," the elder blond said sternly, his green eyes staring at the teenager across the table from him. A seemingly endless frown was upon his face. The teen looked back at his gaze, a frown-more of a pout actually, due to his physically young age.

"I was not involved," the boy defended, as he set down the teacup and looked down. He hadn't taken a sip of it. He wouldn't, either. Tea was revolting to him now, and he supported his people. He'd die (in a figurative sense because he didn't think he could die anyway) before his lips touched another drop of the stuff.

His guardian raised a thick eyebrow. "You were not directly involved, but I know you know of what would happen, lad." He paused, taking a sip of his own tea. America could not stand England lately, becoming annoyed at every thing the man did. He set his cup back down and cleared his throat. "Alfred. Look at me, please." It wasn't a request. Once America did as he was asked, only then did England continue. "You knew that those rebels would toss my tea," he simply accused, his raging anger easily masked by an air of calm. "My men have seen you with," he spat the names as if they were poison. "Paul Revere, Samuel Adams, William Molineux. What else would you be doing with men like these, hmm? Besides silently supporting those damn traitorous rebels!" A fist was slammed down upon the table, making the boy jump slightly.

"Because they're right!" He exclaimed. "And it wasn't an act of treason! It was a protest because your tyrant laws and taxes are unfair and too harsh!"

He laughed, "Harsh?! My boy; my spoiled, ungrateful, unreasonable brat of a boy. You have absolutely no concept of the term, 'harsh.' No thought of tyranny."

"I think I know what I see," America spat. "Because it's all I see. How can you claim to know what's best?! When you reside across the ocean!"

"I know better, because I'm centuries older than you. I have seen and experienced more." He sighed deeply, as if annoyed. He took another calm sip of tea. "Well, you want to see harsh? I've been too lenient with you. I've let you run around like a bloody urchin of the streets, when you should be learning the etiquette of a gentleman." Oh, like him? "You and your people force my hand, Alfred."

"What are you going to do. now?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"Boston needs to be held accountable for its actions. Our King and Parliament have decided to establish a new set of laws."

"You've got to be fucking jesting," Alfred replied, half in shock, and half in outrage.

"Watch your damn mouth!" Arthur exclaimed. "Or I'll get the belt! You're not too old for that, I can assure you." Silence reigned for a moment, before he continued. "They are called, 'The Coercive Acts.' Boston will essentially be locked down. The port will be closed until all the tea is payed for. Any residents of Boston will provide shelter and housing to soldiers that require it, no exceptions to that, and..." He looked Alfred dead in the eyes. "All positions in political power in Boston will be replaced by those hand picked by the King."

"That's outrageous!" He declared, standing up abruptly, his wooden chair scraping against the floor. "That's not fair!" He was furious. "You'll only get more people mad at you! More to hate you! This is robbery of freedom!"

"Life isn't fair," he said simply. "And wasn't what your people did robbery of product?" He questioned. "And as for you, you're going to cease this rebellious behavior. Stop this nonsense. I understand you are in that odd physical phase, but it is no excuse. From now on, you will behave like a proper boy. You will wear appropriate clothing, those that I deem appropriate. You will focus on your studies. You will practice table manners and etiquette. You will drink tea. You will show respect to your elders, and you will participate on hobbies that I approve of. Reading, riding, studying, and music, among others. I will return to the colonies on a more regular schedule, to make sure you are obeying me. And since you insist in acting like a child, I will have to make sure there are people watching you. A governess, a nurse, perhaps some of my men. You will not be allowed to rebel against me, Thirteen Colonies of British America. Are we clear?" And with his long speech over, he took another sip of tea.

America felt a boiling rage inside of him. Pure hatred and outrage. "I only show respect for those that deserve it!" He yelled, his hands accidentally making a dent in the mahogany table. Oops. Oh well. "And this rebellion is because you just don't listen to anyone who isn't you!" He was being brushed aside like he didn't matter. "And I REFUSE TO TAKE YOUR TEA!" In a bold move, he knocked the tea pot off the table, along with his own cup, and hurried away, running up the stairs and into his room, locking the door behind him.

England had lost any sort of calm facade. The utter lack of respect this boy had! His green eyes narrowed dangerously, before he carefully set his cup down. And then he exploded. "Alfred F. Kirkland!" He roared. "Get back here, this instant!" So he could beat some god damn respect into him. He stalked after him, pulling at the locked doorknob. "Open this god damn door, right now!"

"Go the hell away!"

He hated when that boy cursed. He was in for it! "How dare you do this, you little bastard?!" Arthur inquired. "Bloody fool of a child! You will clean that tea up, before you get a strapping!"

"That's funny! Considering I'm in here!"

The absolute nerve. He gave one last futile pound at the door before taking a step back. "Maybe I should just take you back to Britain with me." He threatened. "You obviously cannot handle living by yourself and being a responsible subject of the crown! I was too soft, Alfred!" He yelled. "I mean it, I won't allow it!" He was serious. "In the morning, we're packing up and leaving, and you're not seeing your own land again, until I think you can behave like a civilized person!" He then said, "You savage little wretch, you'll learn, I swear it!" He yelled, before turning on his heel. He called over his shoulder. "Best start now. I'll return at eight tomorrow, and you better be prepared to depart."

Alfred did pack, anyway. Because that was the night he ran away.

And England did not see him again until 1781.


End file.
